Beyond And Between
by TooCreative4Life
Summary: Dick leaves behind the colorful costume and heads out on his own, leaving the team behind, when Bruce dies; blaming the death on a fluke "accident" (murder isn't an accident). But when he's told that people have been leaking info on hero's weaknesses it makes the hero reconsider. He goes back for one reason, catch the psycho who caused Bruce's death. No pairings decided yet.
1. Tears For Yesterday

**AUTHORS NOTE**

Now, this story is entirely inspired by an author on here. Their fic is the predecessor of this one. It's called Turning Point, might want to read before you read this one. Beware, it's really sad just like this one'll be. I love writing sad stories. It's really annoying, but I love it.

Anyway. This is another fic for me to have fun on. Feel free to leave suggestions on what you want to see, keep in mind that this is centered around Dick's grief at loosing Batman and how he transitions roughly in to Nightwing.

As always, five reviews and next chapter guranteed. But with some delays as I've got to write Roads to Yesterday and Not The Devil's Fire first. I might end up doing a weekly thing where one week is centered around writing one fic and the next another and the next the other one and then the next the last one and the next the first one agian, in a cycle. What do you guys think?

So, read on. But be warned, you will cry at my descriptions and this is not a story for the weak of heart or easily depressed at character inner-self-torture.  
Love you all who read this,  
Creative! ;)

* * *

The blackened skies looming over Gotham poured forth their heavy tears onto the sorrowed city. A somber parade made it's way down a main avenue in the tortured crime-haven. Rows of people marched, their heads bowed to hide the many cascading tears, behind the procession. The dark city's streets were filled with grieving silence.

At the steps of the commissioner's office hundreds gathered, each looking more sorrowed and despondent than the last. Standing beside a podium was the commissioner, who looked the most dismal of them all. His hollowed face filled with sadness, just as they had been the last three years on this day. Gordon cleared his throat and began to speak.

"People of Gotham, today is the third time we meet on these steps to commemorate one of our city's greatest supporters. He was the golden light behind Gotham's recent decrease in crime. He was the greatest man Gotham has known, and he was taken too soon. Three years ago today, Bruce Wayne was murdered. We are here to remember him and what he stood for."

The crowd was silent as they listened to the commissioner. Some new tears snaked down red cheeks, though they could have been the tears of Gotham's blackened sky.

From behind commissioner Gordon soft sounds of stifled drying could be heard by the nearest officers. They need not turn to see that it was Richard Grayson-Wayne who was the source of the sounds. Each year the young ward of the dead billionaire came to the speech, sometimes to make one himself and others to just stand and remember his late father. No one questioned the few tears he shed, ever. They understood the pain, for they felt it too. Or at least they thought they did.

No one understood what made Dick cry at the speeches. No one knew what had happened that night except the four members of the Justice League who had found the crying broken boy trying to wrap himself in Bruce Wayne's, then Batman's, limp arms.

_******"The League will be here soon, just hold on!" Tears were dripping down his cheeks. No response just made him cry harder._

_"Batman?"_

_"Batman!" Robin cried while trying to shake him awake._

_"BRUCE? No, you can't be dead! Come on, get up, please! We have to go home! Wake up!" The boy curled into his father's lifeless body._

_"Please, don't leave me. Don't leave... I love-..." he whispered, not being able to say it, and wishing none of this ever happened.******_

Dick shook his head, clearing the memory from his mind. The blue-eyed boy had tried to forget that night, tried to put the past behind him. He had yet to visit Bruce's grave since he made the promise that he'd never look back and that he'd never stop fighting crime. Dick's shoulders began to shake as he tried to contain his tears, the tears he'd been holding for three years to the day.

The boy turned his back to the crowd, that was overly focused on the commissioner, and walked away. His hands were stuffed deep in the pockets of his leather jacket as he walked briskly back to the Manor. Dick didn't even notice as his hood blew off, letting the rain soak his ebony hair despite the chill. He forgot how he had promised to speak again this year at the gathering. The mourning boy couldn't care less about previous engagements when his heart felt like it was ripping all over again. He had to change, to get into the suit which allowed him to shut away all those horrid feelings and memories. The gates of Wayne Manor swung open for Dick and shut silently behind him, the boy already halfway up the path.

Dick let himself in, not wanting to trouble Alfred with the doorbell. The newly solo hero felt like he put enough strain on the old butler asking him to tend to the numerous and ever augmenting amounts of injuries that he would receive and having the butler clean all of his grimy, blood-stained, foul smelling suits. Dick had never liked making the man do it, but the acrobatic hero just didn't have the time, the energy or the strength to anymore.

As Dick made his way through the immense house with his normal silence he swore that he heard something upstairs. _It's probably Alfred putting the laundry in my room._ Dick entered the kitchen, only slightly surprised to see a bowl of warm soup waiting for him. A rare soft smile crossed Dick's face as he sat down on the counter, holding the bowl in his frigid hands.

The pamperings of the rich life had had little effect on Dick's love of the simplest things such as chicken noodle soup, a fresh batch of cookies, a small mug of hot chocolate, a warm smile and caring pat on the-

"Stop it." He growled to himself, jerking slightly to stop the train of thought.

A grimace appeared on Dick's fine features as he felt the searing hot liquid dribble from the bowl onto his hands and legs. He carefully set down the bowl and began to wipe up his mess. The young man focused on his work, putting care and precision into each of his movements as if that would help to ease his mind and bring his thoughts away from that treacherous path he had just been trying to escape.

* * *

Alfred watched young Master Richard on the Batcave's main computer, using the camera's that Bruce has had installed all over the manor when Master Richard had been a very young master in deed. The little boy had gotten himself into more trouble in a single day at age six then Bruce in a whole year at age twelve. Alfred chuckled to himself at the comparison. The two men, both of whom Alfred had cared for from young ages, were as similar as night and day but as different as rain and snow at the same time. Nothing much separated them, _An__d even less now_. Alfred thought to himself with a sigh.

He looked back to the screen, watching Master Richard scold himself for spilling the soup and berating himself for thinking back to the night Bruce had... After three years Alfred still couldn't say that Master Bruce had perished. The butler brought a white-gloved hand to his eye to wipe away the beginning of a tear and strode out of the cave. He may have lost one son to the fight, but he, Alfred Pennyworth, would be damned if he let his son's ward, and practically his grandson, beat himself up again for being the cause of that.

* * *

"You're a stupid careless idiot. All you do is make messes that other people have to clean up. You just get yourself in trouble and people have to bail you out. Well- You don't have anyone to bail you out anymore Dick. You got the person who bailed you out the first time killed."

He'd been repeating that through out his clean up process, over and over with different variations. The once-Boy-Wonder stopped to look at his reflection in the shinning fridge door. What he saw was a hollow, distorted reflection of a miserable kid who could do no right and had been having someone fix his mistakes far too often for far too long. The hero fought back a new rush of tears as he slammed a fist on the metal door, denting the surface slightly.

The sounds of footsteps flipped a switch in Dick, causing the hero to suddenly drop into a defensive stance with his baby blue eyes narrowed and glued on the door. He relaxed when he recognized the signature shuffle of Alfred.

"Geez, Alfred, don't sneak around so quiet like." Dick tried to joke, his voice cracking slightly.  
"I'm sorry Master Richard. I will try to make more noise." Alfred answered with a light smile when he entered the room, earning a feeble chuckle from his young master.

The two men looked at each other, eyes scrutinizing the face of the other. Alfred had not changed in three years. He wore the same suit with burgundy flap and yellow handkerchief in the pocket, the same graying mustache and balding hair, coupled with his always welcoming, warming, calming smile. When the elderly man looked at Dick however he saw a very changed person. His young master never laughed anymore, he never played with words and he never wore colors besides those included in the spectrums of white, black, gray or blue. Alfred had watched the young, jubilant thirteen-year-old boy grow into a sixteen-year-old solitary, master detective who could kill in the blink of an eye. Dick no longer socialized with his teammates. Dick did not have fun the way he used to. The boy did not play pranks or pull fast ones or tell jokes. Dick did nothing but appear for the company, work in the Batcave and patrol under his new persona. When Batman had died Alfred had watched Dick try to continue as Robin, but the Boy Wonder could be nothing without the big, bad Bat behind him. So, Dick had tried taking up the mantle of the Batman, with limited success. It was when Dick had almost gotten himself killed by the Joker that the League told him to put down the Batman cowl, practically forced him to. But Alfred had agreed with the League. Yet, Dick was not dissuaded from continuing hero work. He fashioned himself a new identity, became a new hero. A hero who was a cross between the Robin he had been and the Bat he had lost. Dick had made Nightwing.

Alfred sighed and walked up to Dick, putting a hand on the young man's shoulder. The butler pinned his grey eyes to once-joyous one's of Master Richard, trying to show the boy that he still had a family in the old man. Yet, as the butler looked into those baby blue pools he saw nothing but sadness, self-loathing and a determined drive for something.

When Dick pulled away and began to walk towards the manor entrance to the Batcave Alfred knew that he was in for another long night of making sure that his young master didn't rush into anything and that in the morning he would surely be dealing with some nasty bruises and injuries. The butler took out his phone and made sure that he had Dr. Fox on speed-dial before following Nightwing down to the cave.


	2. Tears For Tomorrow

_**Author's Notes**_

_-I love you all for reading, but I would love some more reviews to tell me that you're reading and what you want to see here._  
_-I'll be uploading all my stories on a schedule: **Every Friday** alternating which story depending on the week. **Beyond and Between - Roads of Yesterday**, sorry I'll be putting Not The Devil's Fire on hold for some time due to lack of inspiration to conitnue at the moment.**  
**-Any critiques on the writing style of the chapter? For some reason all my writing right now is reading just a little rushed to me. I don't know why. But tell me if it does or if it's just my overly perfectionist mind set.  
- Also, I'm adding in a tad-bit of complete fiction from my mind backstory to Canary. Don't murder me for it, because then you'll never read the end of this fic!__  
_

_As always, I thank my readers for reading and implore you to leave a little review telling me you like the story,_  
_Love Creative! ;D_

* * *

Soft, barely audible, thuds echoed from Nightwing's boots as he walked down the long, silent corridor of the Watchtower. His movements were stiff as he tried to hide the ever increasing limp in his walk. The night before had been a long and arduous one, involving many thugs and a ticked off crime lord. Batman had once taken down the crime lord, but he had been released from prison and taken control of his empire once again. Nightwing had started out his night taking down simple thugs, but ended it with a full out brawl against the crime lord who was newly equipped with Kobra venom.

Nightwing's attention was drawn back to the gray world around him as he heard voices echoing along the corridor. They were growing in volume and despite the fact that Nightwing could not distinguish words he could easily read the tone. As the hero walked he began to hear distinct voices shouting the words. He stopped beside the door, which kept the rumbling arguments from being heard through out the entire base, and listened.

"Why are you trying to bring him back?" A deep voice bellowed.  
"Because if we don't and he finds out, what will stop him from finishing what he started that night, Clark? He almost killed the Joker because he thought that the maniac murdered his father on the chance of a fluke accident. That's all that kept him from dropping that clown off the tower. What do you think will happen if he finds this new information on his own, without the Team stop him? Bruce may have trained him to act like an adult and make the hard decisions on a moments notice, but Dick is still just as prone to vengeance and rage the others. He wasn't programed like Bruce, that's why he became Robin. To avoid that." A rough, melodic voice said, evidently trying to stay calm.  
"The Team thinks he's dropped out of hero work completely, not that he abandoned them. Bringing him back will only cause problems him and put strain on the Team. Strains and problems that will do them more harm than good. It is not right." The same deep voice growled.  
"It's his choice, and he will deal with whatever comes from that decision." Flash's voice rung loud and clear.

Nightwing took a steadying breath as he stepped back. The League had information about Batman's death that supported that it wasn't just an accident. The somber hero couldn't help but feel relieved by the fact that it wasn't just his own inability that got his mentor killed, but the nagging feeling of guilt still persisted by tugging at the sour string saying that if only he had been faster then Batman wouldn't have needed to die. Nightwing leaned against the wall, trying to wrangle the fresh emotions into submission before approaching the senior Leaguers. Subtle tears of conflicting origins rolled down the seasoned hero's cheeks, despite his best efforts to curb them.

He would never be able to fully shake the guilt that came with being the one the gun was pointed at before Batman died. Survivors guilt was what Canary had called it. _Yeah, some survivor I_ _am._ Nightwing scoffed at himself before straightening and drying his tears. He promised Batman that he wouldn't look back, that he would keep going forward. But, what if going forward meant going back and closing all the doors? Would Batman be angry with him if he broke his promise, if only to a slight degree?

* * *

Four heads turned towards the door as a knock echoed in the room. Martian Manhunter flew to the door and opened it, gesturing for the black clad hero on the opposite side to enter. Black Canary and Superman nodded in hello to the newcomer, whilst Flash was by the young man's side in a well... flash.

"Good to see you, Nighwing. Gotham treating you well?" Flash asked, his tone overly cheery; _As per usual__, _Nightwing almost chuckled to himself.  
"As good as any crime infested city, I'd guess." Nightwing answered, shrugging. "Now, why am I here? You guys don't invite civilians or soloists up here for no reason."

The four adults in the room let out a collective sigh as if they had been hoping he wouldn't ask.

"Blunt as ever, just like Batman." Flash said, earning him a sharp jab in the side from Canary.  
"We called you here because of some recent developments, and because we wanted to check up on you since you weren't at the annual memorial speech." Canary said.  
"I was, but then I left. My life is my life." Nightwing snapped at them before recomposing himself. "Developments in what? I'm not part of the Team or the League anymore, I don't have any cases that would interest you or that you would feel obligated to inform me of developments."

The room turned silent as everyone looked to Canary to explain. The blonde sighed as she stepped towards Nightwing, trying to remind herself to stay as clam as possible despite her swimming emotions. She recalled the last time she had spoken to Nightwing, no then it had been Batman... The blonde looked at the black clad hero before her, studying him in the split second she had before he would hide behind his walls. On his face she nothing of the young man she'd been first introduced to, but everything of the man who had been her leader. A saddened sigh made it's way through her lips before she started to speak.

"That is not entirely true. We all know that there is one case that you're still working that pertains every bit to us as it does to you. That case has recently been brought to our attention again under a new light. I can safely assume that you have heard in some form about the incident last month where Superman was hurt by a bullet?" A slow nod allowed Canary to continue despite the annoyed and embarassed look of her teammate behind her. "As you could have guessed it wasn't an ordinary bullet. The metal had been mixed with liquified kryptonite, thus why it was able to wound Superman. He was lucky that the bullet only struck his shoulder, because if the bullet had been aimed at his heart, it would have killed him. This is not the only incident of specific weapons being used against a hero."

Images and videos of Leaguers and their proteges fighting flashed to life on the newly appeared hollow screen; a frequency emitter heard only by birds being used against Hawkman and Hawkwoman, a heat bomb being used against Aquaman and Aqualad, a flame-whipe being lashed at Martian Manhunter, a long range vertigo wave propeller against the archer family... But Nightwing was drawn immediately to the smallest clip at the bottom left hand side. An odd angle, but it showed someone running and leaping to catch a bullet before showing flashes of red and yellow.

Dick couldn't look away from that small part of the screen. The League must have gotten the footage from Batman's mask camera. Dick's jaw tightened as he stopped himself from crying. He would not be reduced to tears in front of these same people. It had been months since he had seen some, and others years. He refused for them to see him break again. His blue eyes scrunched behind his domino mask as he tried to contain the sadness, the anger, the fear, the guilt...

"Before you start reeling and descending into your world of hate and despair, let me offer you something," proposed Canary as she watched Nightwing's expression change from stone to confusion to ice. The masked eyes turned to her and she felt the question in his hidden gaze as she continued, "You can go through this alone, sifting through what evidence you have and working with yourself and Alfred, or you can join the Team or League and you'll have at your disposal all the data-bases and resources that you could want or need in your time off of missions. Not to mention the continued support of your team."  
"So you're saying that I can either walk out now and continue on my own just knowing that there is a connection between the Man of Steel getting hurt by a bullet and my mentor's supposed purposefully accidental death or I could rejoin the team that I quit and have you tell me everything and have them and you helping me solve this while I'm not running around doing little so-called 'missions' for you guys?" Nightwing asked, something similar to Roy's tone of snark and annoyance in his otherwise overly placid tone.  
"Sums it up, but it's more to the fact that we think that you could use some friends to help you with this. Dealing with losing a mentor is rough, but dealing with losing a parent at the same time. I can't imagine what it's like for you. And if you re-open these scars, there's no telling how it's gonna end."Flash said from behind Canary.

Nightwing looked at the heroes in front of him. They were the only one's who knew both sides of him, besides Wally, or at least used to know both sides of him. No one knew much of both sides of Richard's coin anymore. They would see the still grieving son or the hardened hero, not the pile of mulch that Nightwing was right now. The blue-eyed hero knew that if he turned down the offer in favor of exploring the matter on his own that he would end up in a situation all too similar to the one not much past a year ago, where he would be a few steps away from dying and these same four people would convince him to either stop heroing all together or that he should rejoin the team. _Why not save myself some time and just go along with them?_ Nightwing thought with a sigh.

He raised his hidden blue gaze from the floor, he hadn't even noticed that it had slid there, and met Canary's eyes. Despite his eyes being behind the mask he felt as though she could see them and understood his answer before the words ever rose in his throat when he saw a seemingly proud smile crack her stoic facade.

"Fine, I'll join the Team."


End file.
